The Last Resort
by Pondie
Summary: Bella must cope with starting her adult life over after her divorce. When she hits a homeless man on the way home from her psychologist, she wonders what the hell she did to deserve any of it.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Twilight fan fiction of any sort. I have to admit I'm nervous about posting it anywhere, but I figured that here was as safe a place to post it as anywhere. **

**The ownership of these characters belongs completely to Stephenie Meyer. I only own the storyline.**

**Con/crit is always, always appreciated.**

**Thanks!**

**- Pondie**

Bella's POV

The ache you feel when you've been cheated on or you find out your husband has had an affair with another woman never quite leaves you. Not after several weeks of constantly re-stocking the shelves with shitty boxed wine, not after several months of therapy, and not after several years of being divorced. There's the constant question of " what did I do wrong?" or "when did he fall out of love?"

"How could he fall out of love?"

"I think you need to ask yourself that, Bella."

My psychologist never ceased to interrupt my train of thoughts.

I started seeing Doctor Mitchel one month and two weeks after my divorce. My friend Angela practically forced me to go with the threat of "psychology or rehab". Obviously, I chose the first, and rightly so. Doctor Mitchel helped me more than any support group would have. I hadn't touched a wine three months, two weeks, and four days, and I was damn proud of it.

"Because he met other women when he was on tour."

"Any other reasons?"

Yeah. Definitely.

"Booze and marijuana."

Those were my two least favorite substances on the planet. Even if booze had been a best friend of mine for a few months after the divorce, it was one of those friends you really don't like but can't get rid of because you need them. To put it plainly, booze is a bitch. An addictive bitch.

"He's always enjoyed them, hasn't he?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think made this time different from any others?"

Oh, there were several things. His lack of interest in my life or what I was doing. His complete interest in one of the women on the sound team. His complete interest in someone who I thought was my friend.

"Jessica."

"Can one woman really make that much difference?"

Yes. Yes, they most certainly could. They could when they came over to our house almost every day during his break from touring. They could when they distracted him completely from his wife.

"One woman, booze, and marijuana can really make that much difference. Apparently five years of marriage doesn't matter when you can't think clearly and you have an attractive woman sitting in front of you."

"You don't think he had a better reason?"

What sort of question was that? There was never a "better reason" for cheating on someone. Doctor Mitchel stared at me through his wire-framed glasses and I stared right back at him. It was something we'd started doing a lot. We would stare at each other until one of us cracked, and most of the time, it was me.

This time, it wasn't the case.

"Your hour is up."

Those four words always struck something inside of me when he said them. It was usually either relief or disappointment. This time I couldn't really be sure. I was relieved that I didn't have to try to sort through my problems anymore and that I could go home with a clear head. I was disappointed that I had been on the brink of figuring something else and had been left high and dry.

"Same time next week?"

I just nodded and stood from my chair, picking my bag up and leaving the office. I'd paid for my sessions in advance. It was easier to remember to pay for them when I only had to pay for them once a month.

As I got into my car it occurred to me just how pathetic I was being. It was just five years of marriage. Five years of marriage that had all been thrown away when he came home and the first thing he said to me was "I slept with Jessica" as opposed to the normal greeting, which usually ended up in him sleeping with me.

Not Jessica.

My car quite literally roared to life. After we'd decided on getting a divorce, he had decided to take my car. Our car, really, but when he was on tour, it was my car. My black 2007 Volkswagen Rabbit that I spent an hour every week cleaning to make sure it always looked like new. He knew I loved that car.

Just another thing I couldn't replace.

I had managed to find an old blue 1982 Ford pickup truck at a used car dealer right in town. The engine was horrible and there were several other problems with it that the dealer promised to fix before I drove it home that I had no idea about, but he guaranteed it would be sturdy for another three years. So far, so good.

That was eight months ago.

Eight months. Eight months since the divorce. Time really did fly when you weren't thinking clearly.

Right now was one of those times. I had pulled out of the parking lot and driven about twenty or thirty feet down the street when I heard a thud, eyes widening. and slamming on the brakes. At least I'd only been driving around fifteen miles per hour.

Still, I hopped out of the truck and walked around to the front of it, eyes widening when I saw a man splayed out on the road. I hit a man. I hit a guy. I hit someone.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to those of you who subscribed! I didn't even really expect people to look at it...except for the few people I linked it to.**

**I have this sooner than I thought I would. I kept debating whether to do it in Edward or Bella' POV. I might end up switching their POV every chapter.**

**This chapter's a bit longer than the first one, which I'm happy about. They might end up just becoming even longer after this. =)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**- Pondie**

Edward's POV

Upon turning twenty-one I had decided, being that I was obviously exceptionally wise for my age, that I would move to America. I always loved America when we went to visit. In my mind, America held more opportunity for me than England ever would. America was called 'the land of opportunities', wasn't it?

Of course, it never occurred to me that finding a job would be rather difficult, and that finding a flat with a reasonable rent would be even more difficult. I probably hadn't chosen the best place to live, either. Long Island was always expensive. Finding a job on Long Island is damn near impossible if you don't really have any degrees in anything other than music.

After only a year and five months, I realized that my search for a well- paying job was turning out to be a complete failure. Working a job at a local restaurant that was within walking distance was nowhere near suitable for the rent I had to pay. Trying to find a job that was within walking distance was difficult enough. Forget about having a car; I was bound to public transportation and my own to feet. A car would be too expensive.

Within the next year, I really began having difficulties. I couldn't pay my rent. I couldn't find a job. I got fired for missing too many days because the weather wasn't good enough for me to be able to walk their during the winter. My search for a job became more and more desperate. The possibility of being able to find a job that would allow me to live in the same flat was slowly becoming less and less of a possibility.

I was evicted from my flat two years and ten months after I moved in. For a while I stayed at one of my friend's houses, still trying to find a job and clean up around the house as much as I possibly could. If I couldn't afford to pay for my own food except for on occasion, I could at least pull more than my own weight. He kicked me out five months after with the excuse that his girlfriend was cheating on him with me.

I didn't have enough money to fly back to England. I didn't have enough money to find another flat. I couldn't hold up a job because nobody wanted to hire a homeless person.

Living on the streets was something I never expected to be doing, but sure enough, it was what things came down to. Eventually I got used to it. I moved closer to the city. Things were busier and much noisier, but I got used to them.

It was cold that Monday morning, as I'd expected. Being that it was late fall, things were beginning to get windy and cold enough to bite at my cheeks and any other exposed skin in a much less than comfortable way if I wasn't covered up well enough. I had long since given up trying to save any bit of my dignity and not go to the closest soup kitchen I could find. Having a warm meal once a week surrounded by people who were in the same position as me and other people who wanted to help was nothing I couldn't bear, and it was a rather enjoyable experience once I got to know people there.

What I hadn't expected, though, was to be knocked over by a truck coming down the road while I was crossing it. Before I knew it I was on the ground, my head throbbing and my eyes shut tightly, groaning in discomfort. I had never been hit by a truck before, and I now understood why people compared horrible hangovers to being hit by trucks. It was a completely accurate comparison.

"Holy shit."

That surprised me. I didn't really expect whoever hit me to get out and see if I was okay. People were usually able to tell I was homeless just by the way I dressed...but then again, I just looked like someone who was wearing too many layers of clothing, their favorite old beanie hat, and hadn't shaved in a while. Maybe it wasn't as easy to tell as I thought.

I could tell it was a woman from their voice despite how soft it was. It wasn't until they were kneeling next to me, or at least bending down, that I realized they had been coming closer.

"Uhm, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

I peeked an eye open, blinking them a few times and looking up at her. At first I thought I had passed out and was now dreaming or...something. The way the sun shone from behind the clouds made her ivory skin look bright white, her hair hung perfectly where it was around her face, and her eyes were so filled with concern that they made my heart throb. It took me a few seconds to realize she had asked me something and probably wanted an answer.

"I'm fine. I just...hit my head."

I could tell she was confused by my accent, though she didn't say anything. Her lower lip was caught between my teeth and she seemed at a loss for what to do.

"I'll be fine, really."

As I sat up, though, I realized that wasn't the case. Just the slight movement made my head spin and my hand go to the back of my head, wincing when I felt the practically baseball-sized bump there. It felt a bit most, too, and for a terrified moment I wondered if I had actually started bleeding before I realized I'd fallen in a puddle of some sort.

"No, you're hurt. I should get you ice or something. You might have a concussion...I should take you to the hospital."

Hospital? A bump on the head was hardly a cause to go to the hospital. She seemed quite distressed over a bump.

"I'm sure it's nothing."

I raised a hand and set it on the front bumper of her truck, bracing myself as I got up onto my feet. She got up with me, watching warily in case I fell. I simply smiled at her, going to take a step before another wave of vertigo hit me and I swayed. I felt her hands on my waist and sighed. She wasn't about to give up now.

"I'll take you to my house, then. To get some ice."

"No, it's fine. Really, I-"

"At least let me bring you back to yours, then."

Oh. Well...that was a bit of an impossibility, now wasn't it?

"On second thought...Maybe your house would be a good idea."

I definitely needed ice and pain killers, there was no doubt about that. I wasn't sure how I felt about going into a stranger's house just because she had knocked me over, but I didn't think I had another option.

I convinced her out of walking me to the passenger seat of her car, getting in easily and leaning my head back against the seat with a wince at the pressure it added to the swelling there. Some ice was definitely needed.

"I'm so sorry about knocking you over. I wasn't really paying much attention."

She put the car into drive and started down the street again. I chuckled and shook my head. It wouldn't be the first time somebody had bumped into me because they hadn't noticed me...Though I'd never been knocked over by a car before.

"It's fine. No blood, no foul."

That seemed to satisfy her for the moment as far as apologizing. She still worried at her lower lip, though, eyebrows furrowed and hands tensed on the steering wheel.

"I'm not going to press charges or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

She chuckled and shook her head, even going so far as smiling a bit. At least I'd been able to do that.

"I was more worried about if I've ever hit any animals while driving since I get so distracted."

I chuckled in turn, wondering just the same thing now.

"I'm Edward, by the way."

"Bella."

She wasn't one for conversation, then. I could deal with that.

It was only about a ten minute drive to her house. She was quick to get to the door and unlock it before I had even stepped out of the car, hurrying inside without so much as making sure I hadn't tripped and fell on my way to the door. I went inside and looked around, hands shoved into my pockets. I hadn't actually been inside someone's house in a while, and I wondered if I would leave any dirt or smell behind me. After a quick sniff to my coat I realized I would probably leave a lingering odor of gasoline.

Perfect.

"You can just go sit on the couch! I'll get you an ice pack!"

Her voice came from down the hall in the kitchen. I wandered down the hall and looked through the first doorway, smiling when I saw it was the living room and that the couch was an old blue one as opposed to some new, pristine white couch. At least I didn't have to worry about getting it

dirty.

I sank down onto the couch with a soft groan. Soft cushions were hard to come by in shelters, or anywhere that wasn't a house, for that matter. Being able to sit on one, even for just ten minutes, was a tremendous amount of relief on my muscles and joints.

She came into the room carrying a bottle of beer and a bunch of ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel. I took the ice from her and she set the beer on the end table, sitting on the other end of the couch as I carefully placed the ice on my head with a sigh of relief. That took the sting off of it, at least.

"I really am sorry about all of this."

"It's no problem. I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. I glanced over at her, frowning a bit when I saw she was continuing to worry at her lower lip. It almost looked like her eyes were beginning to get red. She had only knocked a stranger over. Why was she getting so upset?

"Is something wrong?"

She looked up at me, immediately blinking rapidly and shaking her head.

"No, no. It's nothing, really. I'm just...annoyed at myself."

Deciding not to press the matter, I nodded. She was a perfect stranger, perfect in more ways than one, and I wasn't about to drill her about her personal life.

A few minutes later she turned the TV on, legs folded underneath herself. I leaned my head back against the couch to hold the ice there, reaching over to get the bottle beer and popping it open. I took a long drink from it, sighing happily and licking my lips. I hadn't had beer for...I couldn't even remember the last time I had it.

The time passed in silence, going from ten minutes to a half an hour to forty-five minutes as we sat in a companionable silence, only speaking up when one of us thought of something to say.

I'd wondered how I had never seen her before. She wasn't someone that would be easy to miss, and for a moment I wondered if I actually had seen her somewhere. Had she been on a magazine or something? Her house didn't look like something anybody exceptionally famous would live in. Not to say it wasn't nice, because it definitely was, but it didn't have the sort of top-quality and state of the art technology you would expect. Then again, maybe I just expected people to have a lot because, having no money myself, any famous person seemed to be a likely candidate to have the most expensive merchandise out there.

When the melting ice started dripping water down the back of my neck I frowned, looking at the time. How had I managed to sit there for an hour and a half without even noticing I had been there for that long?

"I should probably get going. I wouldn't want to impose or anything."

I hadn't even noticed that she'd gotten a sort of glazed-over look to her appearance, or that her gaze had been fixed on me, until she shook her head around and blushed. Well, that was something I hadn't expected.

"Oh, right. Uhm...Well, would you like me to give you a ride back to your house?"

I managed a smile and shook my head. That was something I would never need from her.

"No, but thank you for the offer. And for letting me come over."

She smiled as well, standing up from the couch as I did.

"I'm still sorry for knocking you over. I should have been paying more attention or-"

I raised a hand to cut her off, chuckling softly.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

She sighed and nodded, walking me to the door. I almost wished that I had really hurt myself. Staying in a warm house for a little longer wouldn't have been something I would protest to, but it would have been inappropriate for me to have stayed any longer.

"I'll see you around, then?"

The idea of it made my heart swell a bit. She was someone I really wouldn't mind seeing again. Or talking to.

"I hope so."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I'm _so_**** sorry for the MAJOR delay in this update! I had the worst writer's block, and I'm really not sure how long I'm going to be able to continue this story. The muse just isn't as powerful as it was when I first started. The chapters might be really sporadic until the flame really lights, and I hope it does.**

**Thanks to everyone who subscribed despite my lack of replies! This chapter is shorter, and it's been sitting on my computer, unfinished, since I wrote the last chapter. I just finished it now, and I may begin work on the next one tomorrow. **

**Again, not my characters, just my plot. =D Thank you, Stephenie Meyer. Enjoy!**

* * *

Knocking Edward over had possibly been one of the most humiliating experiences in my life. I knew I hadn't been thinking clearly (or much at all), but I knocked someone over. How could I have even missed him? He was tall and was pretty damn not-missable in my opinion.

Watching him leave almost made my heart ache. I had hurt him, and he was leaving because he thought he was imposing. I'd knocked him over with my truck! Still, I didn't think it would be right to keep him if he had somewhere to be, so I let him go with the promise of seeing him around. It was a ridiculous promise. I never saw anybody around unless they went to the soup kitchen I volunteered at. The only people who I regularly saw there were Angela and the few other people who volunteered.

Seeing him go left me feeling lonely all over again. I hadn't realized it in the hour or so he had been there, but just the presence of someone sitting next to me on the couch and watching TV made me feel more at ease. Edward never pressed for conversation and the silence between us was far from awkward.

I did have several things to do; mainly laundry, dishes, some extra cleaning. Any cleaning I ever did was extra. There was hardly ever a speck of dust anywhere around my house. Angela always teased me about it whenever she came over. She said it seemed like my house kept getting newer as opposed to older, and it was hard to disagree.

The phone ringing startled me out of the almost trance-like state I had fallen into, my sense all waking up at once. I rushed to grab the phone after the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bells."

Oh. Just Charlie.

I had never gotten used to calling him 'dad'. My mom's new husband only ever treated me like family, and although Charlie was the biological father I had known all my life, I spent more time around my mother referring to him as Charlie than around him calling him dad. Once I got to be sixteen I got sick of trying to feel comfortable forming the word whenever I was around him. After a short argument (which was really just us talking in short, awkward sentences) he finally said I could just call him Charlie, claiming he would have been fine with that all along.

"Hey, Charlie."

Awkward silences were never hard to come by when it came to Charlie and I.

"So, what's up?"

"Nothin'. I just wanted to see how you were."

"Ah."

I looked down at my nails with intense curiosity, wondering when I had chipped the pale pink polish and debating whether or not to paint them again. It would kill ten to fifteen minutes of my time. Maybe it was worth doing just to have something to occupy myself.

"So?"

I blinked a few times.

"So, what?"

"How are you?"

"Oh. I'm fine."

He sighed on the other end, and I could only guess why. Sure, I hadn't spent every day of my teenage life with him, but he was my dad. I took after him in every respect when it came to my attitude. I would always avoid telling people if my day had gone any way but perfectly.

"Bella, come on. I know you better than that."

It was my turn to sigh, chewing at my thumbnail.

"Well, I'm fine."

"I call you every week, and you always say the same thing."

He called me every week? I never noticed it before. The fact that Charlie called the same day I went to therapy never really clicked in my mind.

"Well, I'm fine, Charlie."

He didn't say anything, and neither did I. Most of the long distance phone charges we had racked up were probably filled with silence on both ends, and it almost made me chuckle to think about it. Only Charlie and I could get sixty dollars extra on a phone bill for not talking.

"I should get going. Watching the game at Billy's tonight."

Billy was Jacob's dad. Charlie always said that just because Jacob was an asshole, it didn't mean his dad was the same way. And he was right. Billy was one of the people that called from time to time to check on me, ask if I'd gotten a job I actually liked. He always joked with me, and for some reason, his jokes made me chuckle every time, no matter how pathetic they were.

Billy was also my source of information whenever I wanted to know about Jacob. I almost never did, but on the rare occasion I would call Billy up, and he would answer any of my questions. He never brought his son up otherwise.

"Tell him I say hi."

"Will do, Bells. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah. Seeya."

We both hung up without really saying goodbye.

Rather than just go to bed like I would have liked to, I fixed myself a frozen lasagna and curled up on the couch in the living room to watch a movie. By the end of it I really wouldn't have been able to tell anybody who the characters were or what the basic plot line was, but it had definitely beat laying in bed for two hours and waiting for sleep to come.

I set my alarm clock before crawling into bed that night. The next day was a Wednesday, the day I always went and volunteered at the soup kitchen. If I just didn't show up one week, Rose would be sure to come to my house and drag me out by the hair. It wasn't so much that she didn't like volunteering there as her determination to get me to go to the soup kitchen once a week.

The alarm woke me up with some annoying radio show the next morning, and I was quick to reach over and switch it off. I went robotically about my morning routine, fixing myself a rather large and very black cup of coffee before getting into my truck.

The soup kitchen was probably the one place I would always feel moderately happy at. With everybody welcoming you inside it was hard not to set aside whatever problems you had at the moment and enjoy yourself. And that was what I always did.

I pulled into the parking lot, my coffee already about halfway finished. Rose's bright red convertible was already parked and empty, and I could only assume that she would bug me about being late the second I saw her. I was really only late by Rose's standards; anybody who wasn't at least ten minutes early was twenty minutes late in her opinion.

I was met by the familiar smell of turkey and mashed potatoes the second I stepped inside. I went to the back room to deposit my coat, purse, and nearly empty coffee cup, before going out to the kitchen. Rose was mashing a large pot of potatoes, and several others were either getting trays of turkey out of the oven or mixing gravy. Wednesday was always 'thanksgiving' at the soup kitchen.

"You're late," Rose greeted me with the second I stepped up beside her.

"I'm only late because you got here before I did."

"You should be showing up here before I do."

I still couldn't fathom how someone who took an hour longer than I did to get ready managed to get anywhere at least half an hour before I did.

"Some people can't wake up at five o'clock in the morning."

Rose just rolled her eyes and shook her head, flicking a bit of hair back that hadn't managed to stay in the messy bun she'd pulled it up into.

"That's a bullshit excuse. Get me the butter."

I nodded and went to one of the refrigerators, grabbing half a stick of butter and bringing it back to Rose.

Rose was the only person who had only treated me like a baby for about a month. Most people still walked on eggshells around me, but Rose took it all in stride. She treated me just the same as if Jacob and I had never gotten divorced, except for the fact that she didn't bring him up in day to day conversation. Rose didn't take bullshit from anybody.

Her attitude was always sort of refreshing. It was nice to have at least _one_ person who wasn't trying to make sure that I was okay constantly. She was the _one_ person who didn't have me on suicide watch. She always got me through the long hours before the soup kitchen actually opened up, and when it finally did at eight o'clock, I was smiling brightly and earnestly at everyone there.

For some reason, volunteering at the soup kitchen always seemed to distract me. Every week, without fail, the soup kitchen helped me get my mind off of what was going on in my life. Seeing so many smiling people who were grateful to just have food, one of the basic necessities in life, made me realize I wasn't in such a shitty situation.

And then my three hours of volunteer work would be over and I would go back to my house to curl up on the couch with Ben and Jerry.

The first hour at the soup kitchen passed uneventfully. I filled up people's trays with mashed potatoes and gravy before sending them to get their turkey. I cleaned up a spilled tray and got an even bigger one for someone. I laughed when one of the men coming in to be served proceeded to do an Elvis Presley impression in his seat while trying to eat at the same time.

And that's when I saw him.

Edward was walking to the same table as Elvis, grinning and laughing when the man attempted to sing _Jailhouse Rock_ without choking or spitting out too much food. For a moment in all the chaos I thought he was a new volunteer, but that thought quickly disappeared when I noticed the blue tray in his hands, filled with mashed potatoes, gravy, and turkey.


End file.
